


Captive

by fawsley



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 21:52:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4538760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawsley/pseuds/fawsley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blame an evil bunny that hopped out at me during a re-watch of 'The Sign of the Three' and then totally refused to go away. I had to write this just to get rid of the blighter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captive

It had been his own stupid fault. He’d pushed himself too far, too fast, over unfamiliar territory, arrogantly shunning both food and sleep until the inevitable crash had hit him like a brick wall.

He’d awoken to find himself in some sort of makeshift cage, being watched by someone, something – he was still to groggy to focus properly – peering warily through a gap in his prison. The thing, the person, whatever it was, sprang backwards as he tried to lift his throbbing head, letting out an alarmed squeak.

‘Please... Help me…’ but he was too exhausted to form the words properly and they emerged as nothing more than garbled squawks. He was starving, he needed to eat, but could he make his captor understand this? Would they feed him or leave him here to rot? 

He tried again. ‘Please… Food… Anything…’ 

The screeching noise that seemed to be the only sound he could produce was truly appalling. By this stage his stomach was so empty, his body so desperate that he would have gladly wolfed down whatever was put before him. 

Acorns. 

Even thistles. 

He just wanted some food, enough to restore his energy, and to be allowed to carry on his way once more. To go home, home once more to his beloved Sussex, to his own house, his old world residence of great charm as it had once been described. 

The Thing was back again, this time making their own strange noises, and clutching a shallow box. Part of the cage was fumbled open, the box shoved inside and the prison closed again as The Thing shuddered and whimpered in what seemed more like horror than anything else.

He lifted his weary head once more and peered at the contents. 

Mice.

Dead mice.

And not even fresh. 

Cold dead mice.

He lunged forwards, grabbed the nearest and swallowed it whole. 

The Thing was watching wide-eyed.

‘Tha… Thank… Thank you.’

This time the words came out as intended and left The Thing gasping in surprise.

Another mouse swiftly followed the first. It was delicious. Already he could feel his body reacting to the nourishment it so desperately needed.

‘Thank you. You are too kind.’

A third mouse disappeared.

The Thing gulped and gurgled, its hands up to its face.

‘Now, if it would be possible, I wish to rest for a while longer then be on my way home to the Hundred Acre Wood...’

At which point The Thing was suddenly wracked with a bout of hysterical laughter. 

But by then Owl was busy with mouse number four…

**Author's Note:**

> Follow this link if you’re still confuzzled 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dN4Rj5t8Byw
> 
> sorry - will embed it properly tomorrow once my brain is working.
> 
> I presume that Mrs H stole the mice from Sherlock's fridge. He was so busy with the eyeballs he never noticed her do it.


End file.
